


The Privacy of a Broken Elevator

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Elevator, First Kiss, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, No Smut, soul-starring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a hunt, Dean and Castiel find themselves trapped in a stuck elevator... for 3 hours. I'll let you guess the rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Privacy of a Broken Elevator

**"Dean, get down!!"**

Without a thought, Dean drops to the floor, and Castiel pulls the trigger, sending a blow of rock salt straight into the face of the decrepit young woman. The spirit vanishes, dissipating in an unearthly shriek, but it won’t be long before she’s back. Dean stands slowly, monitoring the area around him with caution. “C’mon Sammy…” he mutters. “We can’t keep this up forever.” The antique lights of the abandoned hotel flicker, and Castiel, stepping back, narrows his eyes in concentration as he glances down to reload his gun. And that’s when she strikes, her invisible presence flinging Dean against the wall with a painful slam. Castiel’s head shoots up as Dean’s gun clatters to the ground and he struggles from his pinned position. Nervous blue eyes frantically search the room for something to shoot, and green eyes suddenly grow wide in panic. Before the hunter can even shout his name, Cas is jerked backwards and forcefully dragged by the collar towards the balcony overlooking the lobby.

“ **Cas!!** " There’s fear in Dean’s voice, joined with the painful reminiscence of every time he’s lost Cas before. But this time it’s different. This time Castiel is mortal.

The spirit belonged to a young woman, Amelia Rose, who, in 1967, was raped in room 308 of the Elliot Hotel. No one knows this of course – aside from the Winchesters and the retired maid they’d questioned - because her assailant threw her head-first over the third floor balcony. The secret died with her and her _“suicide”_ as it was reported. Over 40 years’ worth of rage and vengeance have been taken out on victims with certain classifications: men, usually in their 30s, with an untold secret – men who reminded her of her murderer. At first only dark secrets brought death upon their holders, but over time, as her humanity faded and her hunger for death increased, Amelia became… less picky. Harvey Freeland, who had secretly planned to propose to his girlfriend, flew over the rail in January, Michael Woods, who was so far back in the closet that only he knew it, went over in March, and Jeremy Crenshaw, who had cheated his way through college, died in August. The hotel closed not long after, but now Amelia Rose is about to add a fourth to her year’s death toll. Castiel, who feels such longing and desire that he dare not reveal it, is about to receive the same treatment. She effortlessly hoists him over the balcony railing, dangling him by his wrists. Dean is still shouting, but nothing he says can free himself or save Cas. The woman leans in close to Castiel’s face, her cold cheek brushing against his as she whispers  _"And so shall the secret die with-"_ but she never gets the chance to finish. Flames erupt at her feet, and as she draws back, her grip loosens on Castiel, enabling him to reach and grab hold of the bottom railing just as she incinerates with a terrified scream. Good ‘ole Sammy.

Dean falls to the floor, but is back on his feet almost immediately, racing to the balcony. “ **Cas!** " He leans over the railing, and finds Castiel shaking, clinging to the balcony’s edge with a white-knuckled grip. Since he lost his wings, Cas hasn’t been too confident around heights, and after today it’s sure to become a phobia of his. "Hold on." Dean reaches down and grips Castiel by the forearm, "I’ve got you-". As Cas takes hold of Dean’s arms, flashbacks of Purgatory, of the portal - of letting go - fill his mind, and his grip tightens. He won’t be letting go this time. Dean hauls the ex-angel up and over the railing in a single maneuver, their momentum throwing them to the ground. Cas sort of lands on top of Dean, but they’re both too exhausted to move, so for a moment Cas lets his head rest on the chest beneath him as it rises and falls to the sound of their heavy breathing. When the fear has faded and relief begins to settle, Dean laughs and sits up, slapping Castiel on the shoulder with a sigh. "You okay?"

Castiel nods. “Yes, I think so… thanks to you- and Sam, of course. I guess I’m still getting used to this  _hunting_  thing…” 

"What are you talking about, Cas? You did  **great**! Things like this… just happen.” Dean stands and helps him to his feet. “The thing is: hunting is 50% killing, 25% saving, and 25% getting your sorry ass saved. It’s just part of the job.” Castiel nods. “C’mon let’s go home.” Cas smiles to himself at the word.  _Home_.

They collect the guns and the duffel, and head to the elevator as Dean calls Sam. “No, Sam, we’re fine. You torched the corpse just in time.” Dean presses the lower of the elevator’s buttons and the doors slide open. The hotel may be old and antique, but the elevator - for safety reasons most likely - is modern, with silver doors and red-lit buttons. “Okay. Sounds good.” They step inside and Dean hangs up. “He’s about three hours out.” (Amelia’s death may have been at the hotel, but she was buried in her hometown, two states over.) “Hope you brought a book…” Dean presses the button marked “L” for Lobby, and with a subtle jerk, the elevator begins its descent.

Castiel hesitantly replies, “I was not aware that I’d be needing one…” But before Dean has a chance to roll his eyes, the elevator suddenly jerks to a stop with a noise that falls somewhere between a squeak and a shriek.

“Son of a bitch?” Dropping the duffel, Dean presses the “L” button again…twice…then a third time. Nothing happens.

“Dean, I don’t think it’s working.”

“Gee thanks, Sherlock. Here – help me with these doors.”

Working their fingers into the crack, Dean and Cas slowly pull the heavy silver doors apart to find a musty brick wall and about a foot’s worth of the entrance into the floor above them. Maybe using the elevator of an abandoned, haunted hotel  _wasn’t_  the best idea. After about twenty minutes of Dean trying to hoist Cas up to the next floor, and Cas trying to open the outer doors and crawl through, and Dean trying  _not_  to stare at the butt directly in front of him, the two give up. “There’s not much difference between waiting in the lobby and waiting in the elevator, anyway. Sam will help when he gets here,” Dean explains as he texts his brother.

“I’m sorry, Dean. If I still had my grace, I could-“

“Hey-” Dean interrupts him. “It’s not your fault.”

The silence that follows is uncomfortable and filled with things that they want to say, but don’t know how to… so Dean sits down, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. “Three hours… might as well get comfortable, right?” Cas follows his lead, sitting against a side wall and folding his hands in his lap. He rubs his wrists, which are still red and sore from the ghost’s little trapeze act. “That spirit…kind of clingy huh?” Dean wants to show his concern, but he can’t seem to bypass the witticism filter. The joke takes little effect, Cas giving a half-smile in acknowledgement, but not actually responding. He’s not fond of his new vulnerabilities and rarely speaks of them. Sometimes Dean worries that the insecurities sprouted from some of his own snide comments, the phrase “baby in a trench coat” coming to mind in particular.

Dean tries to take Castiel’s mind off of his humanity. He tells him stories of their most bizarre hunts and some of their funniest moments. Cas listens earnestly, eyes glued to Dean’s. It’s nothing new; they’ve always had a sort of soul-starring sense to their eye contact. But Dean has always wondered about it. Even when he isn’t talking, he tends to catch Cas looking at him, looking into his eyes.

“Why do you do that, Cas?” he finally brings himself to ask.

“Do what?” Castiel continues to stare, his eyebrows now pinched together in confusion.

“Well, I mean no offense, man, but you’re kind of drilling with the eye contact…”

“Oh. Forgive me.” Castiel’s eyes drop immediately. “It’s just- your soul… I find it pleasant to look at.” He looks back up tentatively, his gaze more gentle.

“You can  _see_  my soul?” Dean asks.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase ‘The eyes are the windows-”

“-to the soul. Yeah, but Cas, you’re human now… How can you still see it?”

Cas sighs and looks to the floor like he’s about to teach Calculus to a kindergartener. “When an angel loses their grace, sometimes they retain a small portion of their angelic biology. You may recall that Anna kept her celestial hearing. As for me, I’m still able to see one’s soul through their eyes. It’s all I have left of my former being…”

Dean’s at a loss for words. All he manages to get out is a “Huh…” Then it’s silent for a few minutes. All he can think about are those words  _“Your soul. I find it pleasant to look at.”_

“Damn, it’s hot here,” Dean pulls at his shirt collar, then stands to shed his jacket, tossing it in the corner. Cas silently follows his lead, removing his jacket and carefully folding it to set beside him. He’s still coming accustomed to these new clothes, but he must admit they’re much more comfortable then the suit and trench coat. Dean glances at Castiel. He looks better without the jacket, and for a second Dean surprises himself by wondering what he’d look like with maybe one more layer removed. “ _Woah, whoa, whoa. Nope not thinking about that,”_ Dean tries to play it off, even in his own mind.  _”_ _Whatever. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that your friend is attractive._   _It’s not like you’re gay or anything… Okay, maybe a little bit.”_

Dean starts sweating. It’s arguably for various reasons but he blames it solely on the heat.

“Where the Hell is Sam?” he mutters, looking at his watch.

“Dean?” Castiel stands up with a hesitant voice and hands shoved in pockets. “Can I ask you something?” Part of Dean wants to say no, because the possibilities behind “something” terrify him, but because Cas is his best friend-

“Sure, buddy.”

“Why did you invite me back?” He looks at Dean, not hurt, but genuinely curious. “I mean, I understood your reasoning for asking me to leave – I’m  _not_  very useful without my grace-”

“That’s  **not** why I asked you to leave, Cas.” Dean lets out an exasperated sigh. “Look, it’s a long story, but the Sparks Note version is that Sam’s life depended on you being gone. And once that was taken care of, of course I wanted you back. You’re my best friend, man.” Dean makes it sound simple and logical, but that’s not how it felt. Telling Cas to leave was nothing short of painful, and Dean had burned of guilt even after he returned home.

“But people like Charlie and Garth – they’re your friends but  _they_  don’t reside at the bunker. It’s not that I don’t like being there. I do, but I just don’t understand why you _want_  me there… when you don’t need me anymore.”

“Cas, what the Hell are you talking about?”

Cas drops his eyes. “Because I’m…” he gestures to himself, “human.”

“ **Dammit, Cas! Did you ever once stop to think that maybe you’re worth more than you’re usefulness?!”**  the volume and intensity of Dean’s voice take Castiel off guard, and he bumps into the elevator railing behind him. Dean takes a breath, and continues with less force. “Back there in Purgatory and the crypt and in my prayers, I wasn’t talking about your powers or your heavenly influence or-  _whatever_. I was talking about  _you_ , Cas. I need  _you_. And on a personal level, not just a practical one. I-” Dean lets out a frustrated breath and ducks his head, hesitant about what he says next. “I  _want_ you. Here. With us, with me. I want you safe and I want you to be  _happy_ for once. I mean, there’s more to being human than just… pain and insecurity and loss…”

 

“And how would you know, Dean?” Cas returns, the struggle of his humanity blatant in his tone. “Pain, insecurity, loss…that’s your  _life_. And now it’s mine, and  **nothing** you say is going to change that!”

“I love you.” Dean doesn’t even know how the phrase escaped his mouth, but there it is. And he can’t take it back because it’s true, and he’s tired of trying to hide it.

“What?” Dean can’t make out if Castiel’s reaction is positive or negative, and he can’t bring himself to look him in the eye, so what the Hell? Go big or go home.

“I- ah, I love you, okay?” he takes a deep breath “And  _that’s_  why I need you. Because every time I lose you or you leave, I feel like Hell. And I’ve wanted to tell you… I’ve tried even, but I - I don’t know – the words just didn’t… I guess it was just weird because you were an angel and your vessel is a dude and I wasn’t even sure if-

Dean finally looks up, and the sight of Castiel interrupts his stumbling monologue. He’s trembling, eyes glossy and wet and wide in shock. At first Dean is worried that he’s ruined everything, but then Cas finally finds his voice and manages to say “I guess my father does answer prayers.” A slight smile creeps onto his face as the tears break free.

“Cas…” Dean breathes out with relief as he steps closer. His hands find themselves taking Castiel by the face, thumbs resting on his cheek bones with gentle strokes, and this time, he’s the one staring unashamedly.

“That was my secret, Dean… I love you, but I swore to never let it show, because I thought-” his words catch in the thickness of his throat and he drops his face, fighting back a sob. His hands grab hold of Dean’s arms for support, and looking up he chokes out “Dean, I need you too.” Cas sounds almost desperate, but this time the sign of vulnerability is not an act of weakness. Dean cradles Castiel’s face with firm and steady hands, reassuring him with gentle and whispered promises. He presses their foreheads together, holding Cas as they rock gently back in forth. Gradually, the tears and sporadic breathing settle into smiles and the occasional sniffle. Dean lifts his head but not far. He’s still close enough to see the pores in Castiel’s skin and feel the heat of his breath. He glances at his lips. The last time Dean kissed a guy was in 7th grade, behind the school bus. John caught him, though, and Sam still doesn’t know the real reason why Dean came home bruised and bloody that night.

“Cas” he breathes out. “Can I-”

But Castiel grabs him by his shirt and interrupts him, pressing his mouth into Dean’s unfinished sentence and kissing him senseless. Dean melts into the lips, his hands greedily reaching back into Castiel’s neck and rugged hair. The kiss is sweet and warm and salty and scratchy - a mixture of lips and tears and beard. And it’s certainly the best kiss Dean’s ever had (and that’s saying something). When they finally part to breathe, Castiel can’t help but smile and say, “Sorry, you took too long.” Dean laughs, an exceedingly bright smile planted on his face. He can’t remember the last time he was this happy. He kisses Cas again, harder this time, letting his emotions and passions concentrate into his hands and lips (and tongue), moaning between breaths, “I need you”  _Kiss._  “I want you”  _Kiss._ "I love you"  _Kiss._ Then Castiel’s hands venture down Dean’s chest, unbuttoning the plaid shirt with nimble fingers.

Dean laughs, “Aren’t you going to take me out to dinner first?” but even as he says it, his own fingers tug at the hem of Castiel’s t-shirt. It slips over his arms and head and falls to the floor next to Dean’s shame and Castiel’s insecurity. Cas’s hands slide under Dean’s unbuttoned shirt, holding him by the hips. Then he pushes Dean against the elevator doors and moves his lips down to Dean’s neck and collar bone, the heat of his breath and tongue eliciting pleasured moans and hitches in Dean’s breath. He begins to finger the button on Dean’s jeans when-

**_BANG._ **

_“OH MY GOD!”_

Dean and Cas jump at the sound, and look up to see a horrified Sam Winchester covering his face in utter embarrassment from the opening at the top of the elevator. Dean’s face flushes red but Cas seems as disconcerted as ever. “Well, you know what they say-” (Dean is pretty sure Cas  _doesn’t_  know what they say) “time passes at a seemingly increased velocity when you’re engaged in an amusing or pleasurable experience.”

Dean laughs and reaches for his shirt. Poor Samantha’s gonna need therapy.


End file.
